


The Maytide Affair

by gratefulsugar



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Broken Engagement, Cheating, Engagement, F/M, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Non-Canon Relationship, Not Canon Compliant, School Festivals, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-05-12 07:14:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19224259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gratefulsugar/pseuds/gratefulsugar
Summary: During the Maytide Festival at Hogwarts, a Grand Ball takes place. Before the night begins Draco is happily betrothed, however before the night is over, he finds no other choice but to call off the engagement. Here's a question: who spiked the punch? And why is Hermione Granger approaching him when he's in such a vulnerable state? Perhaps she might turn this awful night around.





	1. Part One

**AN** : This was going to be a one-shot but I'm too impatient. I wanted to post a little something, something before I get into the next scenes. Don't worry, I haven't forgotten about my other stories. All of those are still in the works but you can expect an update ASAP.

FYI – this is a  **non-Canon** / **AU**  fic set in a reality where Voldemort's plans in Goblet of Fire were never fulfilled, so the students of Hogwarts could enjoy the rest of their schooling peacefully without the happenings of the war going on around them. This story is  **Explicit** , rated for a reason. There will be graphic depictions of a sexual nature as well as crude language and underage drinking.

You've officially been advised.

 **The Maytide Affair**  
**Part One**  
~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~

_May 2nd_ _, 1998 – Hogwarts Castle, the Scottish Highlands_

This year at Hogwarts, they'd put on a mildly special event: the Maytide Festival.

It was a grand display, one full of music and art, food and drink, and learning how people did things the old-fashioned way. It was taking place as a time to remember and appreciate the medieval history of Magical folk. It went on all-weekend long and students  _and_  faculty were encouraged to wear costumes or ancient-fashions of the like.

It was Saturday evening and everyone who was anyone was piling into the Great Hall to attend the Grand Ball, just one part of the festivities. Draco Malfoy had Daphne Greengrass latched on his arm as they entered through the large doors.

During the summer holiday, Draco's parents had announced to him his arranged betrothal to her. However he hadn't been surprised in the least, having known for a while that this particular choice was coming.

Narcissa had expressed to him at a young age that Malfoys – if they can prevent it – prefer to marry those who are fair, with blonde hair to keep their future heirs looking like their previous ancestors. It was strictly about vanity.

Daphne had lustrous blonde hair, of course and Draco found it completely laughable that this was – underneath the surface – probably the swaying reason why his mother and father had decided upon Greengrass instead of Pansy Parkinson.

Actually, he'd rather got along better with Daphne much more than he ever had with Pans.

Pansy and he dated (bickered incessantly with one another was more like it) during fifth year for about five months before he'd walked into the common room and found her lip-locked with Slytherin sixth year Simon Wallis. It'd been horrific, which was an understatement. There was yelling and crying and fighting – all the good stuff.

They were friends again which was fine with him but he certainly wouldn't want to have to marry the insufferable girl, so he was very glad to be engaged to Daphne.

She'd been a doll, for the most part. She was prim and proper, had grace with every move – just like his mum. It was funny, almost like it was meant to be.

Daphne was dressed in an extravagant, pale-blue gown that appeared to be like it was taken right out of a history book – exactly how all the other witches were dressed, yet maybe not as extravagant. The wizards were donned in similar-type garb; leather or cotton trousers, vests, sleeved-tunics as well as fancy hats and cloaks were the typical go-to outfits for most of the young men about the castle.

Draco could say with confidence that he looked damned good in these medieval clothes. It was sophisticated – he almost wished everyone still dressed like this all the time.

He felt like pure  _royalty_.

Tonight he'd decided to wear a coat-like, brocade tunic fit for a king, with buttons that lined half-way down the middle. It was a deep, velvety green-black, finely splayed with an intricate, matte pattern in silver. On top of his head he wore a matching silvery-crown with dark, onyx insets.

He let his hair get very messy these days, and it was longer. Right now it fell just past his chin but he always tousled it and swept the front of it away from his face with his hands. He still exuded his dignified, aristocratic nature but something within him had shifted this year. Draco felt he wanted to explore a bit more; he felt adventurous even – more so than he'd ever been.

Sure, he'd traveled to many places with his family and that was incredible in itself but he wanted more, to see something he'd never seen before – to feel things he'd never felt before. He wanted to go after what he truly wanted in life, whatever that might be. He still didn't really know yet.

Time at Hogwarts was coming to a close. His eighteenth birthday would pass by before long and he'd probably have to settle for some boring job at the Ministry. Why couldn't something far-more exciting be lined up for his life? He was  _rich_. Why hadn't he thought about doing anything more worthwhile? He practically had the world at his fingertips.

"I fancy myself some punch," said Daphne suddenly, sweeping Draco out from under himself and he snapped back to his fiancé, his previously glazed over eyes now refocused. "Would you get some for me darling, I see Tracey over there with the others,"

Before he actually had time to form a response she was letting go of his arm and gallivanting in the other direction.

Odd… as much as he liked his betrothed, she'd been acting strange lately. She'd been somewhat distant and short with him, not in an angry way – just like she was somewhere else, in her own reality.

That was alright for now but if Draco was to have a wife, he'd really like it if she could open up to him. They'd been an official couple since the very beginning of the year and to be fair, he didn't know all that much about her.

He knew she got up exceedingly early to get herself ready for the day, keeping up with a scrupulous self-care and beauty routine. He noticed she preferred peaches and plums over apples and bananas, and took her tea with a dash of milk. Her favorite subject was Charms, which she did rather well at however she had an uncanny knack for Transfiguration incantations.

How much could Daphne say she knew about  _him_?

Draco knew that Daphne and Theodore Nott used to shag every so often. That wasn't a big deal – he wasn't a virgin either. He and Pansy were each other's firsts. They'd been horny fifteen year olds, he had no other excuse.

Also, he'd observed that for a few weeks before the end of term last year, Daphne was briefly dating this charming, smarmy Hufflepuff, some nobody named Lysander Cupples. A brief lapse in her judgment, Draco would say.

When he'd asked her about it, Daphne told him she'd split with Cupples, that they just didn't mix well together and she was happy she'd been engaged to Draco anyway. He believed her, not to mention he didn't feel threatened by the badger boy in the least – git wasn't anything extraordinary.

Draco went to the punch and buffet bar, grabbing two glass goblets and filling them with some of the sparkling, pinkish tangerine-juice.

Just then, he heard fluttery laughter, a familiar sound that was easy on the ears. It was the Head Girl – Hermione Granger – and she was giggling over something the Weaselette was whispering in her ear.

That girl's appearance had changed quite a lot.

Her chocolate curls were miles longer, softer looking too. Currently she'd let most of her mane down, the top of it twined in a braided style that kept it out of her face. Her gown was far less ostentatious than Daphne's, more modest but it really suited her. It was a creamy, sugar-cookie colored dress with golden-biscotti lace trimmings and the tied, corseted scoop-neck really accentuated her round bosoms (which Draco was realizing he hadn't paid enough attention to).

Yes, Granger had grown to be a  _very_  fit witch. She was lovely, if he dared say so. He could admit it to himself, not that he'd ever get any ideas.

Whether he liked her or not (he didn't), she'd always been off-limits – Harry Pothead and Ron Weaselbee's best girl.

Although Weasley  _was_  going out with that irritating bint, Lavender Brown now as opposed to Granger, who he'd tried his hand with dating the year before. Unfortunately for Weasel-face, the Golden Lioness had broken up with him – Draco couldn't remember the precise reason though he was pretty sure he could guess why.

Either way, all three of the Gryffindors were his least favorite people on the planet. Just because Granger happened to be attractive meant nothing – he still detested her gung-ho, swotty self and all that.

For a moment as he was lingering there by the punch table, Hermione's amber-gold eyes flickered to his and their gazes locked. Her brow arched, giving him a quizzical look. Draco smirked instinctively, sending her a similar expression. He could have sworn he'd seen her freckled skin redden with the heat of a blush.

Finding himself surprised by that he shook his head, shrugging it off as he walked away to find his friends.

~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~

"Did I just see what I think I-" Ginevra Weasley balked, her mouth open aghast as she looked back and forth between Hermione Granger and the Slytherin's retreating form. "Did you and ferret boy just share a look?"

Hermione was practically laughing her head off – the room was spinning. Was this fruity punch spiked? She'd had two glasses already. It must have been, she was feeling sort of buzzed, drunk even. Being drunk was the only plausible explanation she had for having just checked out Draco sodding Malfoy.

And he looked good too…  _really_  good.

Gods, he was irritating. Why had he been staring at her in the first place? She was almost angry, could feel her face get warmer as she became flushed with a mixture of emotions.

"I really don't-" she bit the inside of her cheek, shuffling her feet beneath her flowing dress. "He couldn't have been looking at me, was he? That just… simply isn't logical. It must've been a flicker of the candlelight," she paused, peering back up at Ginny who was grinning coyly and waggling her brows in suggestion.

"He was looking  _right_  at you," the copper-haired witch conveyed with conviction, leading them back towards Harry. Hermione was chuckling anxiously, letting her much rowdier girlfriend pull her along. "I  _saw_  it, right before you noticed him."

"I  _don't_  care," Hermione found herself answering suddenly. "Looking or not, I couldn't be bothered to wonder on it. I loathe the barmy prick and he loathes me, number one and two, he has a fiancé. Must I go on? You know very well-"

"Yes, he  _is_  the worst," Ginny interrupted. "And so is that prissy, bitchy fiancé of his. If I could, I'd turn them both into two, fat ugly toads."

"That's… I mean, you  _can_  technically." replied Hermione, not quite sure what to say or think about  _any_  of it.

They finally reached where Harry and Neville Longbottom had been standing and she was thankful they wouldn't have to talk about Malfoy anymore.

~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~

Almost an hour and a half later, things were getting rambunctious to say the least, and somewhat disorderly. Everyone was stumbling about and a few were actually falling over. The students felt a bit cloudy, hazed and some of them were dancing a little bit too intimately together for a school event.

To most of them, it was clear the punch had been spiked.

The Head Girl was determined to figure out who'd done it.

Draco Malfoy couldn't find his date.

He prodded his chin, peering around the room for the twentieth time. It could be possible she went outside to enjoy the fresh air. There was an enchanted, romantic garden set for lounge and display on the grounds just outside the castle and he was thinking that maybe she'd went outside to avoid the stuffy atmosphere in the Great Hall.

Sadly, that was highly unlikely. He'd reckon she rather enjoyed this kind of event a lot. That's why he hadn't checked out there yet.

Heading for the doors, Draco went off to find his bride-to-be.

He was marching down the Entrance Hall when out of nowhere Pansy came barreling into him.

"Pansy…? Wha-" he'd literally danced with her ten minutes ago. That's why he'd lost his girlfriend in the first place – because he'd been so distracted by Pansy that he never saw where Daphne went.

Daphne had of course, allowed them to share a dance. It wasn't a big deal to her; they were all friends and this was their last year living together at school. It was nostalgic for them, and they were adults now, so a platonic dance was nothing serious.

"Where are you  _going_?" she whined, her hands gripping up his arm and waist, trying to lure him back into the Great Hall. "Stay, come  _back_  inside. Theo was just getting ready to pull down Ernie McMillian's trousers!" Pansy tossed her raven-black hair back, cackling evilly.

They'd previously all been joking about how the grubby wanker from Hufflepuff never wore any undergarments, allegedly. A few of them wanted to know if it was true  _far_  more than Draco would have cared to discover.

"I'm trying to find Daphne," he relayed sternly. "I don't understand where she would have gone," he didn't like feeling so vulnerable. What if she wasn't okay? What if she was in some kind of trouble?

"Oh, I'm sure she's around – probably back inside, gossiping with Tracey," tried Pansy. "C'mon, let's go. I really want to see if McMillian  _actually_ -"

"I can't, Pans. I'm going to go check out in the garden. What if she's hurt and needs help?" Draco turned around to start walking again but Pansy caught him by the wrist. He flinched, swiftly glaring back at her with broiling frustration.

"Wait, don't go. Don't go out there," she croaked, unsure of herself. She was really starting to feel the effects from the alcohol-laced fruit-drink, everyone was.

Those words felt like a lightning bolt went through him. Something wasn't right. He snatched his wrist back from her, his silver eyes glinting with untapped fury.

"What do you  _mean_ , don't go out there?" he growled lowly. It was all coming together now. Pansy had been distracting him for a reason. "What have you done?"

She couldn't answer him, gaping and about to stutter. Without looking back he once again turned on his heel and all but ran for the doors to the grounds.

Any and all of his anxieties and insecurities were rushing through him, like a tsunami overtaking a whole island. At this point, all he cared about was that he was being lied to – whatever it was.

What was happening? Did the rest of his mates know something he didn't? His suspicions were killing him.

Once he reached outside, he slowed his pace. Draco's eyes darted around as if he were an eagle while he looked; he could practically  _smell_  the betrayal lying thick in the air.

There weren't many students meandering in the garden. It only took him a few moments to spot the corner of a pale-blue gown poking from behind a dense hedgerow – but Daphne wasn't alone, no. He could hear the chuckles. She was with somebody.

Draco took a deep, calming breath – in through his nose, out through his mouth. What a horrid situation. How the bloody hell was he going to do this? It didn't help that he was moderately inebriated.

"Hahaha, oh my," Daphne was full of such merriment. This type of laughter from her was very rare and Draco felt a crippling pang in his gut over the epiphany that he'd never heard the heiress sound so carefree whenever she was around him. She'd always seemed incredibly bored and just plain aloof at times when she was forced to be in his company.

This was what it was all along. Daphne Greengrass didn't even like him, did she? She didn't even care for him, not the way a husband and wife should care for each other.

Without another thought, he stepped towards the poorly hidden couple.

"So," he began, his voice penetrating the moonlit-night. Instantly Daphne and her beau jumped away from each other, utterly startled from the jarring intrusion. The usually so-proper girl was caught off guard. She was attempting to straighten up the front of her dress where it'd been completely pulled down to her waist, her breasts previously uncovered. "Yes, that's right – the jig is up," he crossed his arms, fidgeting with his chalice of punch in one hand. The contempt he felt was about to broil over like hot water from a steaming kettle.

"Dra-Draco-" stuttered Daphne, in shock as she was still trying to collect herself.

Who was beside her, fixing his britches and tucking in his tunic? It was Lysander Cupples, predictably.

"Cupples, really mate. I didn't think you had it in you," Draco started, getting closer to him and feigning a good attitude but the sarcasm was dripping from his teeth like venom. "I'm impressed. I've never once gotten Daphne to show me her tits," Draco growled and with a harsh thwack, his fist made contact with Lysander's face. The jolt of it sent the Hufflepuff straight to his knees, crying out in agony. Daphne gasped in terror, the astonishment evident in her expression. "Now could you get the  _fuck_  out of here so I can talk to, to…" he didn't even want to call her his fiancé anymore.

Lysander was rubbing at his already swollen cheek as spit out a spray of blood on the grass. He peered up at Draco, apologetic. "I-I'm sorry," he mumbled pitifully, getting himself to a standing position. Slytherin's Prince rolled his eyes, unamused and Cupples trudged away with his tail between his legs.

For a second they stood in silence, Daphne and him. However, it was not a comfort as they simply stewed, and wallowed in distress.

"Well, clearly you never broke up with Cupples," he stated, put-off.

"But I  _did_ ," replied Daphne. "I did last year, but then…"

" _Then_ …? What, being engaged to me wasn't enough? You couldn't have just… opened up to  _me_? I was supposed to be your husband."

He began nearing back to the castle. "Was?" Daphne repeated, following behind him.

"Yes, was. I don't want to get married anymore, not after all  _this_."

At first she let out a cry of frustration, quickly tearing up from the abrupt news but then she said coldly, "It doesn't matter what we want, Draco. Don't you remember?"

"Oh, I remember… but I don't give a  _damn_  about what our parents decided for us. I'm going back on the engagement, right now. Truly, I'm doing us both a favor. I refuse to let my life go by, stuck in an unhappy marriage with a witch who won't even give me the time of day,"

"But-"

Draco turned back around, glowering at her with pure disdain. "You know, I was  _so_  worried about you, Daph and here you were. You really are just a thoughtless wench. All you think about is yourself. Fine – then go be by yourself or with Cupples, for all I care. We're  _through_."

"You're not serious," Daphne tried nervously.

"Completely," he was playing it cool but his chest felt tight. A violent temper was welling up inside of him and before long he was going to lose it.

"Please, I beg you to reconsider," she sniffed.

"If I were to ever even  _consider_  reconsidering, it certainly wouldn't be right now," he responded, gritting his teeth. "Leave me, I can't bear speaking to you any longer," he ordered her solemnly and with a sigh of defeat she obliged, leaving him to his thoughts.

After all of that, Draco couldn't believe he was still holding his drink.

Without any more hesitation he pelted his chalice against the stone of the castle, shattering the glass into a thousand pieces and splashing the spiked punch that'd filled it  _all_  over the place.

He was pretty sure he'd never felt this angry before, not like this – never in his life. He was only one step from taking his bruised fist and seeing if he might be able to make a hole in the wall with it as he imagined beating in Cupples' face again. Yet he knew that was useless and he'd probably break his hand.

Instead he pressed his knuckles stark against the now wet stone, seething with his rage as he ferociously mashed them into the rocks. He felt it stinging as it sliced through the skin and scratched him all up but after a moment, he was numb to the pain.

Just his luck he'd get cheated on again.

Was it really his bad luck though, or was it just him? Was there something… wrong with him? Daphne had barely kissed him their whole, measly relationship, had barely shown any interest in him at all. Was she actually in love with someone else, or was he really just  _that_  awful to be with?

What the bloody fuck was he going to do now?

Then just like that, another person made themselves known. Stepping from the shadows and into view perched the timid figure of Hermione Granger. Concern was etched into her features as she gazed upon him and the mess of broken glass beneath his feet.

Draco stared back at her apprehensively, sheepishly – wondering how this night could possibly get any worse.

~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~

 **AN** : Thoughts? Love to hear from you guys. Part Two coming soon.


	2. Part Two

**AN** : Sorry it’s been taking me so long to update! I can barely keep up with my stories. My life is insane. I really have no other way to put it. Thank you all so much for the follows and reviews! It means so much to me when I hear from my readers. I’ll keep continuing to update as often as possible! Without further ado, here’s Part Two.

**The Maytide Affair**  
**Part Two**  
~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~

_May 2 nd, 1998 – Hogwarts Castle, the Scottish Highlands_

The Head Girl wandered outside previous to seeing Draco Malfoy storm out of the castle doors. She’d watched him survey the enchanted garden where sadly, he’d found his otherwise betrothed in the arms of another wizard.

Hermione had only come onto the grounds to get away from the heavy, crowded atmosphere inside the Great Hall, take a breather. Honestly, she felt tired of asking every person she came upon if they knew who spiked the sparkling punch.

She couldn’t have known however, that the garden’s own atmosphere would grow to be far heavier.

Really, she hadn’t realized that pristine Daphne Greengrass was such a lying slag. She felt pity for Draco, as she gazed onward at the scene unraveling before her.

From where she’d been standing, Hermione didn’t even notice Greengrass and Cupples there to begin with until Slytherin’s Prince himself called them out. The two had been a hop and a skip down the cobbled lane, hiding through the thicket.

Hell, Hermione was quite surprised it’d seemed Malfoy hadn’t noticed _her_ standing there when he’d sauntered straight past. Rightfully so, he’d had a few other things on his mind than simply taking in the scenery.

After Malfoy knocked him to the ground, Lysander made his way to the stairs leading up to the doors, stumbling by Hermione’s place beside the rose-covered bushes. “Twenty points from Hufflepuff, Mr. Cupples,” she drawled to him.

The sandy-haired boy peered back at her, a bit confounded that she’d even been present. Still, he took the news like a good-sport, knowing full-well he deserved it. He gave a little shrug, rubbing at his sore mouth as he continued into the castle.

“Yes, was. I don’t want to get married anymore, not after all _this_.”

Hermione could hear Draco and Daphne as they trudged right towards her. Panicking momentarily, she ducked behind an owl-shaped topiary and pretended she wasn’t so terribly eaves-dropping.

Greengrass’ eyes were welling with tears as she reviled back at him coolly, “It doesn’t matter what we want, Draco. Don’t you remember?”

“Oh, I remember… but I don’t give a _damn_ about what our parents decided for us. I’m going back on the engagement, right now. Truly, I’m doing us both a favor. I refuse to let my life go by, stuck in an unhappy marriage with a witch who won’t even give me the time of day.”

Hermione felt fairly in shock from what she was hearing. She had no idea that’s how things were for Malfoy. He and Daphne seemed so perfect for one another from an outsider’s perspective, seemed they had a life they were totally content with. Even though it was common sense, it was still difficult to wrap her head around that in reality they’d struggled and had petty drama like everyone else. It made Draco Malfoy out to be entirely more human than Hermione would have ever deemed possible.

All of a sudden he was much more attractive. Was it because he’d been cheated on? She genuinely felt for the poor ferret. She herself had caught Ronald checking out Lavender Brown on dozens of occasions when they’d dated last year. She was forced to come to grips with the fact that her own boyfriend had the hots for that vapid, vain girl who slept in the bed beside her every night (thank Godric she’d been made Head Girl this year with her own bedchambers).

A few months ago Ron got into a relationship with that very girl, exactly as she’d predicted. In all Hermione-like fashion, she might’ve even _wanted_ them to get together and had chosen to break up with him before he did something really stupid, like cheating on her. It was obvious Lavender had reciprocated his feelings, so who’s to say it wouldn’t have ever happened?

Hermione would never know now, but that was alright with her. She’d made her decisions, and Ron looked to be really happy these days.

Back to the matter at hand:  yes, it could be agreed that Malfoy was always a facetious prat throughout the years yet unwittingly, he’d had a fair amount of redeemable qualities too, like being incredibly intelligent, for one. He was third in his class, a Prefect. He’d almost made Head Boy and that hadn’t been because of any outside influence from his father. That’d been from Draco’s hard work alone – Hermione witnessed it with her own eyes.

Also, tonight was proving that he totally didn’t value infidelity and that in itself was redeemable. Who knew the Prince of Slytherin was so honorable and, and _princely_? He certainly looked like one in that beautiful silver and onyx crown.

Malfoy couldn’t have deserved to get lied to and cheated on… however, nobody usually did.

“You know, I was _so_ worried about you, Daph and here you were. You really are just a thoughtless wench. All you think about is yourself. Fine – then go be by yourself or with Cupples, for all I care. We’re _through_.”

“You’re not serious,”

“Completely,”

Malfoy was acting as unaffected and nonchalant as he could but Hermione could hear the garbled strangle deep within his throat, indicating how choked up and angry he was becoming.

“Please, I beg you to reconsider,” Daphne was already crying.

“If I were to ever even _consider_ reconsidering, it certainly wouldn’t be right now,” the rage was threatening to overtake him, Hermione could tell. “Leave me. I can’t bear speaking to you any longer,”

Daphne did as she was told and went for the doors, going inside. Hermione was thankful the prissy tart hadn’t seen her there and was pondering if perhaps she should also sneak back inside, before Draco saw her.

Yet her feet did not budge one inch. Maybe she should go talk to him?

If it had been _anyone_ else, she wouldn’t have hesitated to go see if that person was alright. She was the Head Girl, after all. It was essentially part of her responsibilities to check on her fellow peers, to make sure they were being properly cared for and to help out if they were going through something.

Well, it _was_ but most Heads did not typically go that far above and beyond. Hermione Granger was different though. She was a blood-born altruist with an authentically compassionate soul. She _wanted_ to help Draco, despite the still-fresh memories of his tormenting during their early years.

None of that mattered much anymore. She could look past it, as long as the weather fared.

There was the sound of shattering glass and it was obvious what Malfoy had done. The clamoring noise disrupted Hermione’s indecisiveness as she stood there stuck behind the topiary. It was time to make a move, to go talk to him and see if she could get him to settle down. How she was going to pull that off was a mystery. Draco Malfoy didn’t ever listen to a word she said, if he could help it so what in name of Merlin was the best way for her to pacify him?

He was probably going to freak out at her.

Hermione breathed in through her nose deeply, mustering up all her courage. Exhaling calmly, she tentatively emerged from behind the topiaries and into the serene light of the moon.

Draco’s silver eyes narrowed in on her instantly and he stepped away from the wall, not really sure what to do with himself in front of her. He wasn’t crying but he was still moderately embarrassed. He’d known there were other people in the garden but he had no idea that _Granger_ had been there too, in close proximity. Had she seen the whole thing between him and Greengrass?

She was striding over towards him, her gaze flickering with determination. He was snickering under his breath, unamused at what his life had become before haughtily addressing her, “Just how much of all that did you get to hear, Head Girl?”

“I… didn’t mean to,” she replied and Malfoy was already rolling his eyes. “I just happened to be out here,”

“I never noticed you,” he was quick to counter back, frustrated at his lack of perceptiveness, at his lack of everything that seemed to matter.

“You were a little… preoccupied, to say the very least.” Hermione answered him, her expression soft.

“Hmm…” Draco hummed, looking away from her and up to the stars. His brows furrowed further together, confusion and self-loathing riding high in his drunken state. “What are you doing, Granger? Can’t you find it within yourself to just leave me alone? I’m not helpless, you know.”

Hermione was taken slightly off-guard. He wasn’t being as rude as she predicted, despite how clearly inebriated he was. Even though he was somewhat stiff in the shoulder, Draco’s demeanor towards her was sort of pleasant. “Might you know who spiked the punch?”

Draco cackled dryly, unable to stop the mirth from sparkling in his stare but then he turned away, remembering his embarrassment. “I never figured it out, probably Crabbe, or Goyle. Granger, why-”

She cut him off, “Actually I have to say, ever since you dropped those two _egg_ -heads for Zabini and Nott, you really turned out… different, different than I thought you would.”

“Have I now?” he asked slowly, feeling perpetually uncomfortable from the warmth in her big, pretty eyes. Where was she going with this?

“Yes,” Hermione said, stepping closer. Draco shuffled the weight of his feet, not sure where to look and ignoring the crunch of glass beneath him. Before he knew it she was right in front of him, gingerly sweeping her fingers down his wrist and bringing up his hand to inspect it. “You’re hurt,”

At first, he wanted to snatch himself away from her but her touch was so tender and careful. She was standing close enough to him he could pick up her irresistible scent, sweet with sunny citrus and a toasted kind of vanilla. He found himself just wanting to fall into her and drown inside of it.

Draco sighed, “It’s my own fault.”

“I know,” her slender fingers traced outside the edges of his swollen, bloody liaisons and he only then realized how small Granger was compared to him. She blinked up at him from her short stature, her lids heavy and her lashes fluttering impishly against the top of her cheeks.

She couldn’t stop herself from the way she was speaking to him, or the coquettish way she looked at him. Gods, she was losing grasp of her wits, all flushed and curious over Malfoy. It had to be because of the beautiful long gown she was wearing (and the punch), for why she was feeling so coy and overly-feminine.

Draco couldn’t say for sure, but it felt like she was flirting with him something awful. However bizarre that was, it made his tummy flip with excitement. A distinct eagerness, a yearning, pooled within his abdomen as a fresh notion spawned into his conscious.

In an instant, Granger was taking out her wand, casting a _Tergeo_ along the small cuts over his knuckles. The drying blood dissolved and disappeared, thoroughly cleaning his wounds. “Before bed you should soak your hand in a bit of Murtlap Essence. I trust you’re capable of procuring some?”

Draco nodded, unable to comprehend anything but how gorgeous he found Hermione Granger to be, wishing he hadn’t been such a damned prick to her over the course of their schooling. She was being _so_ bloody kind to him. Why, oh why had he ever listened to his father?

Oh, that’s right: because he wanted to _be_ his father. Well, he felt very differently now.

Hermione let go of his hand, watching it reluctantly fall back to his side. “The swelling should go down eventually, but…”

“But…?” he parroted, actually intrigued.

She peered at him bashfully, “There’s something I’ve been meaning to try, something… special.”

One _billion_ and a half enthralling possibilities swirled about Draco’s head in one single moment and his balance faltered. He tried to act cool, which he was finding out he wasn’t always good at. “Oh? And what’s that?”

Granger was practically gushing as she gestured towards the limb at his side. “I’ll need your hand again,” He was hesitant, unsure of her motives but he lifted his arm up to her and lightly, she held it once more. “Okay, now _relax_ ,” she told him, and he took a breath. Hermione brought her vine-wood wand towards his knuckles again and moving it in a circling-motion, spoke the incantation, “ _Frigus Ventriculus_ ,” which to him, was an unfamiliar spell.

Immediately, he felt a cooling relief wash throughout his hand which only a second ago had been in throbbing agony. He looked at it just as the swelling seceded and the pain ebbed away.

“What-”

“It’s a spell of my own design, to help with swollen injuries,”

“Help with it? Granger, my hand is completely healed. Save for the scratches of course, but the swelling... I don’t know what to say,”

“I suppose a simple thank you would suffice,” she joked, smirking at him.

“Yes, thank you,” he relayed sheepishly.

“I’m so glad it worked! It took me several months to perfect the method, you know but this is the first chance I’ve had to try it out.”

“I’m… incredibly impressed,” Draco allowed himself to admit. “You must come forward with this new incantation of yours and provide St. Mungo’s with a demonstration. This is just… it’s cutting-edge. They’re going to give you the bloody Order of Merlin, third-class at _least_ ,”

“Oh no, that’s very unlikely,” she said, waving her hand dismissively.

“No, it’s not,” he argued, still overcome with pure admiration for the brilliant witch before him.

She stared at him, her mouth ajar. “Stop being so nice to me, Draco Malfoy,” she said with her brow quirked in faux-annoyance. “It’s just not like you,”

Draco chuckled, feeling crass about his so-called life and finding it pretty ironic that the best part of the night was getting to talk to Granger in the garden. “I definitely don’t feel like myself anymore,” he confessed, momentarily removing his crown and running some fingers through his silver-blonde locks. “This ridiculous ball was a train-wreck. I don’t know how I’m going to tell my parents about… _ugh_ ,” he groaned, remembering Narcissa. “My mother is going to throw a fucking fit,”

Hermione’s heart almost leapt from her chest, and she wasn’t sure if she was ready to know why.

“So, you’re… really going through with it?” she’d tried to resist but for the life of her, could not refrain from prodding.

His lips curled into a subtle grin, forgetting the pain he felt from the trauma of the evening.

“Curious to see if I’m actually done with Greengrass…? Why’s that, fancy yourself next in line?” he queried boldly, slightly wagging his brows at her. His stance was shamelessly audacious as he let one of his hands slide across his own abdomen and she watched as his thumb lingered where his belly-button was.

“Preposterous,” she replied quickly, ignoring the heat she felt rising in her face. “I’m _only_ curious, that’s it.”

“Uh huh,” Draco was unconvinced, a sly smile gracing his features. Hermione was utterly smitten, yet of course, frustrated that he always succeeded in getting her all riled up.

Before she had time to think it over, she was already babbling. “If I’d had any fascination for you beyond that of innocent curiosity, it’d be strictly because I’ve had three, full glasses of punch.”

“You’ve had three, full glasses?” he barreled over dramatically, clutching at his heart. “And you were just puppies and kittens about performing an original spell you’d never tried using before?”

“Wha… but I-” Hermione couldn’t form any words fast enough. All of a sudden she felt bad for using him as a guinea pig. “Sorry, I-”

“Granger, I’m _kidding_. If there’s anyone I shouldn’t doubt with spell-work, it’s you. Clearly you know what you’re doing.”

Draco was reliving the thoughts he’d had as he entered the Great Hall earlier that night when the ball started. He remembered the adventure he desired, the more exciting and more worthwhile things he wanted to explore. He still really wanted to see something he’d never seen before, and to feel things he’d never felt before. He felt that now more than ever.

Hermione was hardly functioning, soaking in this moment where Draco Malfoy was acknowledging her intelligence and then some. There was a telling twinkle in his eyes as, surprisingly he offered up his hand to her, bowing his head.

“Care to dance?”

“You want to-”

“Sure, why not?”

She gazed him over, thoroughly relishing the sight of him there, looking like proper royalty. Even she felt like a princess as, shyly she placed her hand in his.

With one fluid motion, Draco reeled her in. He rested his free palm above her hip and she followed suit, bringing her dainty hand to rest over his chest. He began leading her along, rocking back and forth as if they were shimmying to a slow song.

Unabashed, and knowing he had nothing left to lose romance-wise, he dipped his nose into her hair, inhaling the sweetness. ‘Fuck,’ he thought as a tingle went down his spine and ran straight to his groin. ‘She smells amazing.’

“There’s no music out here,” the words fell out of Hermione without her consent. She was so nervous to be in Malfoy’s arms like this, but not because she was uncomfortable. No, she wanted more.

Honestly, she felt positively _mad_ but at this point she wanted to shag his brains out. She’d never felt this fiercely libidinous before, not even with Ronald.

“So?” Draco whispered, inching his body closer and closer to her. His hand swept across her lower back and grabbed a handful of the poufy material of her dress there, right above her bum.

“I don’t know,” Hermione giggled. “Just seems silly,”

“Oh?” drawled Draco, swallowing his uncertainty. “Well good, because there’s something I think I’d prefer doing over dancing,”

She didn’t want to assume where he was going with this, and Hermione didn’t answer as she peered up into his stormy, stone-washed eyes. She was toying with the pieces of hair at the back of his head, batting her lashes at him coquettishly like she’d been doing and Draco took this as his cue; in turn, he let go of her hand, grazing his thumb and fingers along her jaw before leaning himself down and brushing his lips against hers.

The connection was brief – she let his mouth encapsulate hers, soft and fervid, and as soon as she had, Draco pulled away. His slicing eyes darted right towards three sixth year Ravenclaws Hermione recognized. The group was staring at them as they walked by from a distance. They could be heard chattering to each other but neither Draco nor Hermione could quite make out their hushed whispers.

His eyes returned to hers, his expression a mixture of emotions. His gaze was tender and mysterious as it swirled with a complex typhoon of unbidden desire. His teeth were clenched, full of tension and there was a crease of disgruntlement between his brows.

“Tell me this is a bad idea,” he demanded with conviction.

“This is a bad idea?” she offered and he growled in response, allowing his hands to roam the expanse of her slender back and waist, sweeping them up through her long tendrils and cupping the back of her head. Hermione whimpered as she lolled into his touch, allowing him to ravish her. His mouth ardently found hers again but Draco was struggling to breathe as he pressed his body further into hers. It was like he could just not get close enough.

Not only in that moment had he felt completely deprived of a human’s touch for too long, Draco was also indescribably attracted to Hermione Granger. More so, he figured, than he’d ever been to any other witch at Hogwarts.

This time Hermione pulled back from him, patting his chest away as their lips unglued. “We should… migrate, to somewhere private.”

“Migrate? What are we, a couple of birds?” he answered breathily, his heart beating five kilometers a minute but he was grinning devilishly. “I’d have to agree with you though. Let’s go somewhere else. I rather detest this garden, _and_ these stupid owl topiaries I mean really, how tacky can one ball actually get,”

Hermione laughed at that, nodding. She was just as aroused, and shortened of breath as he was. “You’re too right,” she said. “And I know where we can go. It’s the perfect place, I think.”

“What are we waiting for then? Lead the way, Granger.”

~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~

**AN** : I really hope you guys are enjoying this! If you care to, please let me know how you like it so far. I’m not sure exactly how long this story is going to be but there will definitely be at least one more chapter/part to this. Thank you so much for reading and I hope you’re all having a great week so far!


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